Broken
by RobertDowneyJrLove
Summary: Set when they are in college. After fighting for months, Jackson and Melissa are at their wits end with each other. Can a song that Jackson wrote really mend the pieces of a shattered friendship?


They fought.

It wasn't like they hadn't done it before, God knows that they had fought plenty before but something about this fight had them wondering if their friendship was even worth the trouble any more. It was vicious, cruel and intense, yelling and screaming had occurred and doors had been slammed. Along with that had come the broken hearts of two angry twenty-somethings trying to make their way through college together but arguing about everything and compromising on nothing.

They had been the best of friends since high school. Jackson and Melissa. They were two halves of the same whole. Closer than close. They had been that way since a plane crash had left them and nine other people stranded on a desert island. They had become best friends and once they arrived back home and settled back into school, nothing had changed. Jackson stayed with Melissa and vice versa. You'd hardly ever find one without the other.

Then came graduation and the reality that they were about to face life was setting in. Compared to college, life on an island seemed like a piece of cake. Jackson and Melissa had agreed that no matter what happened, they would stay together and for a while they did.

Until reality set in. Then all hell broke loose.

He started his band and got caught up in his music, she picked up an art class and eventually they just stopped talking or doing anything together. It seemed as if their friendship had just dissolved over night. Their friends knew it wouldn't be long before they'd realize how immature and rather dumb they're being about it and make up.

"Where's Melissa?" His younger band mate, Steve piped up, playing with his drum sticks. The wooden sticks twirled between his fingers with a practiced ease and if it wasn't for the fact that he sang and played lead guitar, he might have snatched them out of Steve's hand and taken over himself.

"Don't know." Jackson mumbled, fiddling with his guitar. "Somewhere."

Steve raised his eyebrows, "Trouble in paradise?"

"What paradise?" Jackson snapped angrily, as he snapped the guitar pick between his fingers before flinging it across the room, listening to it click as it hit the wall before falling to the carpeted floor without a sound. "There is no paradise. At least not that I've found."

"I'm guessing, that you and Melissa fought?" His other band mate, Donovan cut in before Jackson could snap at anyone else. He had noticed the change in Jackson's mood since he had arrived for band practice earlier, flinging his guitar case around as if the guitar inside was worthless. Donovan and Steve could only guess that his "delightful" mood had something to do with the absence of a certain Asian that they'd never seen him without.

"What else is new?" Jackson grumbled, snatching a new pick from the ashtray on the corner of the stage. He strummed once and growled when the strings didn't made the right noise. "Stupid piece of no good rotten-"

"Jackson!" Donovan cut him off quickly, "Before you start cussing the world, could you tune your guitar so that we could get on with band practice and get out of here? I'd like to sleep before the show tonight."

"Not in the mood to practice." Jackson growled, tossing the pick back into the ashtray. "Cancel the show."

Donovan shook his head as he watched his friend storm off, the guitar flying from his hands. Taking his own guitar off of his neck, he took off after Jackson and found him outside, leaning against the building smoking a cigarette.

"Killing yourself. I've told you that." Donovan laughed as he watched Jackson fling the cigarette into a puddle of water. The hiss as the hot tobacco met the cold water was the only thing they heard as Jackson turned to him and met his eyes.

"Donovan, really not up for a chat right now." Jackson grumbled as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket and looked away.

"You don't have to talk, just listen." Donovan told him, "Listen every time you fight with Melissa, we know it. Your mood is bad enough, you could cause world war three if you wanted too. So suggestion for you before the band decides to find a new lead singer, either end it with Melissa for good or tell her that you're too in love with her to see straight because this up and down thing, it's a bunch of bull crap, we're all sick of it and sick of you. We love you and we love Melissa but sometimes I wonder if you two should really be talking to each other."

As Donovan stormed back into the club to start band practice with or without him, Jackson looked at the back door before staring out into the icy L.A. air.

Bull crap.

His whole life had been bull crap. Twenty-one years of pure bull crap and there wasn't a single freaking thing he could even think to do about it. He had been bounced around the foster system from the time he was three until he graduated from high school and moved to college on a scholarship and with help from his best friend's parents. Then he had gotten a job playing for a local club, met Donovan and Steve and formed his own band.

He yanked his keys from his pocket and stormed to his car, forgetting about his broken guitar and the band practice that would continue with or without him as he got into his car and sped out of the back parking lot. He listened with a satisfied grin as his tires screeched across the wet asphalt and onto the wet concrete of the back alley that led out of the club. He slammed the accelerator to the floor, listening as his car roared down the alley and the tires screeched on the wet concrete.

He looked around his car and in his glove-box before realizing that his cigarettes were gone. He had half-smoked his last one before being interrupted by Donovan and tossing into a half-frozen puddle of fresh rain water.

"Ah screw it!" He grumbled, pulling into a gas station and jamming the car in park.

He dug around in his pocket until he found the ten he had been saving, yanked the key out of the ignition and stormed into the gas station. He grabbed a bottle of coca-cola and made his way to the front.

"A pack of Winston's please." He grovelled to the attendant.

He pulled his I.D. out of his pocket and showed it to the attendant. He shoved his ten at the attendant after he had gotten the cigarettes and grabbed the white pack, his coca-cola bottle and left the gas station without his change. The sun was just beginning to set as he pulled out and headed back to the apartment he shared with his, at one time, best friend. He smoked half the pack by the time he reached the apartment.

When he arrived she was sitting on the couch, a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels in her hand and her glassy eyes focused on the TV, which was flashing the credits of some stupid movie. He snatched the bottle of Jack from her, took a long drag of the amber liquid, barely flinching when it burnt its way down his throat, shook his head and shoved the bottle back into her hand, ignoring her icy glare. He stomped into his room, changed into a pair of sweatpants and crashed into bed, setting the now half-empty coke bottle on his night-stand.

Tomorrow things would be better.

xxx

Tomorrow came and went and things were still no better. He had yet to talk to his best friend and she spent most of time with her new best friend, Jack Daniels or with her nose buried in her sketch-book that would end up on the stack of sketch-books in her closet. They rarely talked to each other and when they did, the conversation was hardly ever cordial, almost bordering on vicious. He couldn't remember there ever being a time when he felt the need to snap at his best friend.

A few bad days built up and something was bound to make them snap, they just didn't know that the trigger would be in the form of a broken plate. The dishwater had been too hot, her hands unable to handle the heat and she was already tense with his icy eyes boring invisible holes straight through her body. She had turned to ask him what his problem was now when the plate hit the edge of the counter and her fingers slipped from the hot plate sending the hot, soapy porcelain plummeting to the linoleum floor of their kitchen.

"Jesus, Melissa!" Jackson snapped looking up from his notebook, "Can't you do anything?"

"With you staring at me like that, no!" Melissa snapped, grabbing the dishtowel and drying her hands off. "And for your information, you ran the dishwater too hot!"

She grabbed the other end of the dishtowel with her hand and pulled hard, snapping it sharply. She balled it up and tossed it at him before going to retrieve the broom and dustpan. She could feel him glaring at her while she swept up the wet, broken porcelain. He grabbed the towel and tossed it, uncaring of where it landed. She rolled her eyes when she saw a flash of white fly across the room and hit the floor as she was emptying the remnants of a broken plate in the metal garbage can.

"What's your problem?" Jackson spat venomously, when he noticed her glaring at him.

"I'm not your maid, you know? If you wanted a maid, you should've become best friends with Taylor. She follows you around like a lost puppy." Melissa snapped as she shoved the broom and dustpan back into the corner of the kitchen and started to her room.

"I don't think we're best friends anymore, Melissa." Jackson spat, venom dripping from every word.

Tears stung her eyes as she lowered her head and stomped to her room without another word. He shook his head, turning back to his notebook, song lyrics already popping into his head. Since everything had started with his so called best friend, all he had been able to write was angry, aggressive, heavy death metal songs that annoyed his band-mates. As he wrote the lyrics down, he could hear the melody in his head but it wasn't heavy death-metal, it was softer, more melancholy. It was sad and full of grief.

"I wanted you to know that I love the way you laugh, I want to hold you high and steal your pain away.."

Melissa paused mid-way through tying her hair up in a messy bun as she listened to his raspy voice sing a hauntingly beautiful song. Her room was connected to the kitchen by a hallway so it was easy to hear his voice from the kitchen. Her vision blurred and her messy hair fell from her hands as the song tore through her like a knife, a song that was so different from any other song yet so fitting for the situation they were in.

"'Cause I'm broken, when I'm open and I don't feel like I am strong enough. 'Cause I'm broken when I'm lonesome and I don't feel right when you're gone away."

She sighed, giving up on her hair as she crawled into bed, pulled the covers up to her waist and hugged a pillow to her chest. His voice pierced her, the rough huskiness a result of the cigarettes but it gave him an edge. It was raw emotion and it was the same emotion she had felt since this whole mess had started. It was a painful sorrow that left her in pieces day after day.

"I'm sorry, Jackson."

"I'm sorry, Melissa."

xxx

By the time the next show rolled around, Jackson made sure he was ready and spent a week convincing his band that he needed to do this new song on his own-just him and his guitar. This song was going to mend some fences, fix things between him and his best friend. He had called Daley and she had agreed to get Melissa to the venue with the condition that she could tie her up and drag her if she deemed it absolutely necessary. They weren't talking but he hoped to fix that.

He had bought a new guitar, tuned it and got it ready. Spent most of the day at the venue practicing and getting ready for the show that night. Tonight was the night, he got his best friend back and ended the hell they were putting each other through.

"Cody Jackson."

A thick haze of cigarette smoke greeted him as he walked out onto stage. Smoke mixed with the red, blue and green of the strobe lights. The smell of various alcohols mingled with the choking smell of cigarettes and spilled drinks mixing together on the floor.

"Hey-" He yelled into the microphone to get their attention before lowering his voice and speaking normally. "-So I've had a rough couple of weeks lately."

He paused and pulled a stool up to sit down, resting his guitar in his lap before continuing. "Me and my best friend have been fighting a lot lately and it's gotten to us. We don't talk anymore and if you know me and my best friend then you know that I can't go for very long without talking to her. She's been with me since high school. She's basically my other half and life's pretty scary without her."

Jackson chuckled at the thought, fiddling with his guitar as he continued. "Imagine that, me scared of life without her..but it's true, life's hell without her. She keeps me sane. Keeps me from doing something stupid. It's crazy how quickly she took the role of my best friend..and I'd hate to lose her because I was being stupid and childish. See, Melissa can only take so much crap before it hurts her and I know I've hurt her. I hurt her last week when I questioned her role in my life. Truth is, she's only ever had a couple of roles in my life..my best friend and the love of my life. I wrote this song after that incident and I've been perfecting it for a week so..Mel I don't know if you're out there, but this song is my way of saying that I'm sorry...I love you, babe."

The entire audience silenced almost immediately as he plucked an intricate, haunting melody from his guitar. Melissa leaned against the wall of the small venue, wiping tears away furiously, as she listened to the haunting melody of the song. Now she knew why Daley had insisted she come with her.

"I wanted you to know that I love the way you laugh, I want to hold you high and steal your pain." Jackson sang quietly, "I keep your photograph, I know it serves me well. I wanna hold you high and steal your pain."

"'Cause I'm broken when I'm open and I don't feel like I am strong enough. 'Cause I'm broken when I'm lonesome and I don't feel right when you're gone away."

"The worst is over now and we can breathe again." Jackson's haunting voice had every member of the audience crying and Melissa, barely able to breathe though the sobs that wracked her small body. "I wanna hold you high, you steal my pain away. There's so much left to learn, and no one left to fight. I wanna hold you high and steal your pain."

He played for a few seconds, intricately weaving a solo into the haunting melody that had left everybody in tears. He closed his eyes as the music washed over him and the emotions took over as he launched into the final chorus. "'Cause I'm broken when I'm open and I don't feel like I am strong enough. 'Cause I'm broken, when I'm lonesome and I don't feel right when you're gone away."

He sang the chorus one last time before playing the melody and stringing it out a few seconds until everyone was shaking from crying so hard. As he drew out the final note, he finally spotted her, sitting against the wall of the venue, knees drawn up to her chest. Tears stung his eyes as he watched her shoulders shake and tears leak from her eyes. He set his guitar back in it's stand and stepped off the stage. The audience parted like the Red Sea and let him through to his best friend. When he finally reached her, he held his hands down to her. Her hands were soft and warm as she slid them into his rough, callused hands. He pulled her up and reached behind her head, knotting his hands in her soft black curls.

"I'm sorry." He whispered, pulling her into him by the back of her head . "So, so sorry."

She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his shoulder. He mumbled a thousand apologies into her soft, dark hair as he rubbed her back with his other hand. He slid his hand down her back and back up again before tugging her closer.

"I love you, I love you." She mumbled into his black button down shirt.

"I love you too, babe." Jackson whispered, burying his face in her dark hair. "So much."

He pressed a multitude of kisses into the top of her head, whispering her name with each one. He never realized how much he would miss his best friend, even when she was right there, until they barely talked. It wasn't as if they didn't see each other, but it was the talking, the comfort in knowing that they had each other to talk to, to vent to that made all the difference. It was having her near him all the time.

"I want to get back on track." Jackson whispered into her hair.

"So do I." Melissa mumbled against the warm, delicious skin of his neck. "God I've missed you."

"I've missed you too, baby girl." Jackson muttered into her soft hair. "I think we need to go home and work this out without an entire club full of people, including my band, staring at us."

"Yea I think they know us well enough to know what happens if we decide to get angry." Melissa laughed pulling away to wipe the tears away.

"Not this time." Jackson shook his head, "No more anger. I've had enough of getting angry. I know enough to know that when we get angry, one of us does something we end up regretting and the other just walks away. This time we talk."

"And listen." Melissa agreed softly, looking up at him. "I just..I want my best friend back."

"You've got him." Jackson smiled tenderly, "I'm right here babe, and as long as I can help it, you won't lose me. Sorry, baby girl, but you're stuck with me."

"I think I can live with that." Melissa smiled softly.

"Good." Jackson nodded as he reached for her again. "Let's get out of here. This smoke is stinging my eyes."

"I thought I was the only one." Melissa giggled as she looped her arm around his and let him lead out of the club. "By the way, if you ever steal my drink again, I'll bash you over the head with the bottle."

"I'd like to see you try, baby girl." Jackson smiled as they settled into an easy banter as they weaved through the crowd. "I'm taller."

"Black belt in Tae Kwan Doe." Melissa pointed out.

"That means nothing if your opponent is six inches taller than you." Jackson clicked his tongue.

"It does when my opponent has a certain spot on his stomach that can be used against him." Melissa winked teasingly, "Works like magic everytime."

"I'm thinkin' you might be a magician." Jackson breathed as he opened the door.

"And you know the rule, a magician never reveals the secrets of their tricks." Melissa winked as she walked out in front of him. "Now come on, we've got a lot of talking ahead of us."

"I have a feeling you might be working a little magic on me tonight, baby girl." Jackson laughed as he followed her.

"You have no idea, guitar boy." Melissa laughed as she opened the passenger side door to his car and got in.

"I bet I don't, beautiful." Jackson breathed as he watched her get in his car. "I bet I don't."

He didn't know what was in store for him and Melissa when they got home. He didn't know where their inevitable conversation would leave them but he did know that he was determined to get his best friend back. Their friendship seemed fractured beyond repair to anyone who didn't know them, but they could fix it. Melissa would make sure of it. If it took every single trick she had up her sleeve, she'd fix their friendship somehow and he'd be right there helping her.

They'd fix it.

Somehow.

* * *

><p><strong>I'm not sure where this story came from or even the point of it but here it is! Yea, the image of Jackson smoking was something that I struggled with. I didn't really picture Jackson smoking but let's face it, nobody really knew what was going on inside his head so there :) As I've told my friends Dally2 and TheOnceAnonymous14, this is my last story for this site for at least a week, maybe two, depending on how smoothly next week goes. I'm taking some time off to go on a roadtrip :) Hope all goes well while I'm gone..oh and for the week or so that I'm gone, my private messaging will still be enabled but I won't be responding until I get back unless the hotel has some awesome wi-fi connectivity. <strong>

**Love ya, **

**RobertDowneyJrLove**


End file.
